Sidelined
by R. E. Lyngard
Summary: Oneshot. Brief interlude from Niko's point of view following events of Fractured.


**Sidelined**

It is cold outside - not cold enough for me to go back inside and retrieve a heavier jacket, but enough for me to shiver in my robe nonetheless. Even though summer has pushed the daytime high well into the 30 degree Celsius range, the evenings seem to still revert to early spring plummeting the temperatures to feel near freezing. This is the nature of the desert, even one with a mesa stronghold built within it.

I sigh both taking in the crisp air and releasing my emotions. Ariel left earlier this morning -not in the traditional send off at the spaceport but in one of her glittering transportation fields growing smaller until there was but a pinprick and then nothingness. Then again, I suppose, teleportation would be the traditional means for her.

My hands tighten their grip on the railing of the balcony as I lean forward to look into the starlit expanse of space from my apartment balcony sheltered within the BETA Mountain facility. On clear nights like this, I often try to look for Xanadu - not that it is possible to see with its cloaking shields, but I like to try anyway. At least, I can find the constellations that are near to the planet. I can feel a smile settle on my face, not the flush your face grin of happiness, but the sad kind that lifts the corner of your mouth yet weighs you down with effort. I will miss her.

"_Come with me, dear," _Ariel had encouraged one more time before folding me into a hug._ "Just for a little while. We could arrange a leave of absence so you can have time to relearn your powers, gain better control."_

Even without being one of the most powerful telepaths alive, she had known what my answer would be before I voiced it. With the Queen of the Crown poised to strike in any number of venues, I am needed at BETA. Sure I no longer have a Series Five implant to enhance my powers, but I am still fit for my duty as a Galaxy Ranger; a six-week, refresher, basic training course has seen to my physical recovery. I am proud to have almost eighty-five percent of my strength and range of motion returned to my left arm, growing stronger every day. Commander Walsh has agreed that when I achieve ninety, I can return to field status rather than continue with the massive amounts of research I have mounding on my desk even after leaving the office three hours later than I should have.

Deciding not to freeze myself any further, I look one more time at the night sky and return to my quarters. As I glance at my computer workstation, I see the dish containing the remnants of my dinner. Picking it up, I go into the small kitchenette to quickly wash and set on a rack to dry. Finishing the meager task, I look about my quarters for more things to keep me busy and find everything has been put in its place. I have become quite the housekeeper during my leave going so far as to discontinue the domestic services program from my household AI.

Seeing as I don't have a grand evening or night ahead of me, I suppose I could return to the computer and check to see if there is news. The rest of the Series Five are running down leads of suspected Crown activity across space from Ryman IV to Ozark to Tarkon. I guess, it is more accurately Series 5.1 which makes me a zero or a negative five since my implant has been removed and not replaced as of yet. I feel the final traces of the earlier smile slip from my face completely as I am hit with a wave of emotion that is anything but foreign.

Both Ariel and Commander Walsh have refused to offer me the new implant. If I can't control my own powers how would I control augmented ones? Their reasoning is sound; my feelings on the matter are not so much. While I understand their motivations and I certainly can't argue with them, I cannot help but be... What? Angry, annoyed, sad… None of those words really capture what I feel.

Sidelined. That word seems to ring through my whole body. It is a word I heard Doc use once when he was describing an incident that caused him to be removed from active play during some sporting event.

Yes, I have been sidelined. Suddenly, I am not one of the Series Five or 5.1 or whatever; I am an outsider. Again…

The ache returns. As always, it begins as a slow gnawing depression. After successfully turning my sandwich and soup from dinner into a lump in my stomach, the unsettled feeling grows into something even more potent. If I am not careful, it will be debilitating.

Every once in a great while, I can master it and make it fade to just beyond my consciousness, but inevitably my thoughts will turn, and I will become aware of it once more. Unfortunately, being aware does little to aid in its recession. It is hard to describe but even harder to share. Ariel asked me to try; the result had been less than pretty.

We had sat cross-legged across from one another, our hands poised to almost touch. Then Ariel had been spun and flung into the wall furthest from me. I had been horrorstricken; my thoughts had immediately turned to Shane and the effect that he had had on me as my implant began to fail. My face must have been an open book because she had quickly smiled, gotten up and offered me a gentle hug which I had tensed into afraid I might do even more damage to my teacher.

_At least, we don't need to worry about your shields, my dear. They are stronger than when you left Xanadu. And, it looks as if your newfound telekinesis is still accessible. We do need to work on modifying it though and your response to physical proximity. You seem to react versus act. _

The next week and a half had been marathon sessions on raising and lowering psychic shields. We were also working on actions. After about a week, I wasn't throwing Ariel into walls, but secretly, I worried that I had only become desensitized to her. Keeping those thoughts from a superior telepath was in itself an accomplishment.

I glance at the chronometer to distract myself from the current train of thought. It wouldn't be productive anyway. As I look at the timepiece, my gaze falls upon the pieces of a psi-ball resting on the shelf among some of my most favorite artifacts. The apparatus is designed for novices just learning to control abilities and learning to find a peaceful center in which to access said abilities. Before the incident, I could take apart and put the ball back together while holding either a verbal or telepathic conversation. Heck, I could have done it in my sleep. Now...

Sighing, I sit down on the large padded mat in the center of the room and concentrate on the ball. The pieces float flawlessly into their proper places. I allow myself to enjoy the ease in which it comes to be the spherical shape and advance the exercise to levitate myself from the mat as well. _And, you really should talk to him. _The memory of Ariel's counsel throws me completely off. Before I know it, I am on my backside on the padded mat, and pieces of the psi-ball litter the room.

Although unhurt, I feel a hot burn in my eyes. Dammit, I am not going to cry. I am not going to become one of those damned females that sobs every time things go to pieces, literally or figuratively. I am a Galaxy Ranger. I will act like one. Through sheer force of will, I push the tears back and swallow past them.

_Talk to him_.The words sing like a mantra in my head. How can I talk to him when I don't even know what to say? _Hey, Shane, remember when I invaded your mind back on the Rymea?_ That wouldn't be the best way to stumble into the conversation.

Growing into my role as a Galaxy Ranger, I have done things of which I am not very proud. Using the others to try and best the Queen ranks in the top three. Finding myself in Shane's head is probably number one.

It had been so twisted and wrong. He was not the Shane I knew. He was unyielding, fighting a battle within himself that was dark and dangerous. Even now, the overtones of sexuality cause heat on my face. The worst of the experience is the knowledge that on some level, I had enjoyed it. I could take what I wanted to know, manipulate if I had wanted.

Who was to say that I hadn't created some kind of influence in him? I'm not even sure that I haven't. Every once in a great while I still catch echoes of him. Could we have forged a telepathic bond? I don't see how that is possible. S'Kara and I had forged such a bond, but upon my waking in the hospital room, it has not reappeared. If any bond would exist it would be between the Rymean and me. Right?

The whole hospital waking floods my memories, bringing more thoughts on Shane with it. This isn't getting me anywhere but more confused. I retrieve all the pieces of the psi-ball and manually put the sphere together. I will work on it tomorrow…or as the case is, later on today. It has become late. I go through my routine of bedtime: wash face, brush teeth, brush hair, set alarm, prepare bed and find myself staring at the mattress without being able to lie down. Maybe another shower will convince me to sleep.

Hot water is quite the balm. It can inspire relaxation better than any sonic apparatus, and I have taken full advantage of the never-ending hot water supply as soon as the medics had allowed. Ariel had expressed concern about my current rate of three showers a day. I simply don't dwell on it.

Finishing the shower puts me in a more peaceful state of mind, nothing like hot water, a twelve-hour day staring at a computer screen, and beating yourself up about events you have no control over and can't begin to understand to exhaust yourself. Double-checking the alarm, I turn the lights out and close my eyes to blessed nothingness and then to memories.

I drift back to Granna. The moon is full hanging like a lantern in the night sky. The sounds of a fiddle and guitar strumming a lively folk tune pierce the night air. The Harvest Dance is in full swing. Shane is off to the side dancing with a pretty brunette. Zozo spins around the fiddling musicians, and my foot once again throbs as my "date" once again finds the tender spot of the inner arch of my foot with his boot's heel.

After scaring children with stories of otherworldly creatures preying on unsuspecting townsfolk, a blonde headed young man named Johnny cuts in between Goose and his dance partner. As Shane bows out gracefully, he must have felt my eyes on him begging for some kind of reprieve because his next steps bring him to me. I am relieved to give my poor toes a break from being stepped on at every turn. Shane holds me close, and we dance in companionable silence, sure-footed and comfortable.

A crash of thunder startles me, and I twist my ankle losing my balance in the process. Shane's strong arms catch me before I fall. By the time I regain my footing, my senses begin to blare with psychokinetic awareness. Before us stands a creature conjured from Johnny's colorful folk tales.

Shane pushes me behind him as always ready to deal with the oncoming threat. But, Goose doesn't have the psychic capacity to understand this creature. A fight of brawn against brawn even with his biodefenses would be short lived. I push back against Shane putting myself in the front line.

A host of memory events not my own invade my mind, all of my senses, as I make contact with a creature so alien words are incapable of describing. I hear my name uttered from Goose's lips, but I am too far entwined in the psychic events buffeting me that I cannot even acknowledge him. The world goes white.

Darkness spreads before me. Only a hint of light makes it through a shroud of thick red drapes. I find myself lying on a bed swathed in the most opulent fabrics. At least, the feel of silk and Kirwin cotton seem to indicate their worth. Slowly, I push myself from the bed and stand on legs still shaky from my encounter with the Scarecrow. Another set of robes cover my body; their feel is silky smooth against my skin. I walk to the slit of light daring to part the curtains of my room. Unsure of what I might find, I take a deep breath and open the fabric fully.

A room bathed in golden light gleams so brightly that I have to shield my eyes for a moment to give them the opportunity to adjust to the sudden brilliance. The smooth white robe covering my arm slides silkily down to pool around my elbow. My skin gleams a shade of alabaster.

I have always been pale. Humans with my coloring do little in sunlight but burn to a beautiful shade of angry pink. Even though tanning has never been an ability I have carried, I have never seen myself so porcelain. A glimmer of deep red contrasting significantly with the pallor of my skin brings my attention to my hands. My fingers are tipped with the deepest red color I have ever seen. The color is so reminiscent of blood that I have to quickly take stock of myself to make sure I have no wounds upon my body.

A movement to my right distracts me from my current fixation on my body, and I find myself looking into the eerie, glowing eyes of the Scarecrow once again. He approaches me, but oddly, I no longer feel threatened by his presence. As he pulls to his full height in front of me, he suddenly stops and stoops to bow on bended knee at my feet.

Confused, I take a step back and brush against two unnoticed figures that had been standing to the right and left of me. To my left stands Zachary. His uniform has been modified to be all white with only a few accents of violet trimming and buttons on his dress shirt. Shane stands to my right dressed as the captain albeit without the stripes of such a rank.

At first, I am relieved; we can stand against the Scarecrow. The feeling is fleeting, however, as Shane turns to look at me. His green eyes are vacant. Slowly, he slides to his knee in front of me. Before I can do more than stare, Zachary does the same.

"Stop!" I order, but my voice fails me and escapes as less than a whisper. I try again, "Shane." I reach to him with my mind; emptiness returns to me.

"Get up!" I scream and push at my hair. My hand encounters a metal band encircling my head. I rip the object from my skull realizing for the first time my hair is shorter than even Zachary's military locks. Staring at the circle of a golden tiara clutched in my hands, I hear a voice.

"I told you my dear," a woman with close-cropped raven hair declares as Doc, similarly dressed as the other rangers, pushes her to a submissive stance before me. "You are just like me." Doc pushes her further to the floor. "Perhaps," she continues in slight defiance as she looks once again at me, "even more than even I had expected."

My voice screaming wakes me. At least, I think it is my voice. As the lights blazed to full luminescence, I am the only in the room. Sweat pours off my body; tears I have no recollection of creating stream down my face. My heartbeat is so loud it is deafening in the sudden quiet of my room. My hands shake as if on a three-day caffeine high. My breathing sounds ragged even in my own ears.

As my body burns off excess adrenaline, I begin to mediate to calm my whirling mind. The dream is the same, a mix of truth that portrays fiction in such a rational light that true reality blurs. Taking a slow breath, I look at the chronometer. Three hours since I had fallen into bed in the hopes that nothingness would tide me through to morning. It hadn't. This isn't an uncommon occurrence. Since facing the Queen and my near death experience, I have yet to sleep through the night. At least now without a roommate, I could attempt to hide from the fact.

A soft tone chimes on my computer. Sliding into a robe, I pad over to the desk and access the message.

"Hey," Shane's usual gruff voice is tinged with a hint of worry and fatigue. His face suddenly appears on the screen broadcasting in real time, well real time with a relay transmission delay.

"Hey, yourself," I reply and slide a hand through my hair, now long and unruly from sleep or lack thereof.

"Couldn't sleep," he explains.

"Yeah, me either." Even though I know that it had been a dream, I can't stop myself from staring into his green eyes, making sure that he is indeed there.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Silence drags before us as we stare into the monitors across a space filled distance. Shane is the first to break our stalemate. "Wanted to let you know that Walsh has us back at BETA by 0900. There is new intel that the Queen is planning a full attack on Ryman IV. We're going to bring the portable recharge unit and rendezvous with the captain ASAP."

As with any mention of the Queen, I feel the space in my lungs constrict with emotion. This time it was even tighter no doubt from the nightmare that I had yet to contain.

"Niko, you okay?"

Masking my face into what I hoped would be a persuasive calm, I reply. "Yes."

"Good," he smiles back. I guess I had been convincing enough. "Because, we were wondering if you wanted to join us?"

My heart did a little skip beat, but I wasn't exactly sure it was from anticipation of going back into the field. "You asking or ordering?" I could hear the humor in my voice and wondered if it sounded as forced to Shane as it did to me.

"Rangers forever," Shane answers indirectly and adds his trademark grin for effect.

"Shane Gooseman," I scold, "You did not just use that smile on me." His laughter is music to my ears, and suddenly the awkwardness between us evaporates. We speak for several more minutes before he signs off with a quick see you soon and wink to match.

Staring at the blank screen, my nightmare begins to replay itself. I physically shake my head with the effort to dislodge the images. I repeat the mantra, "It was only a dream" over and over again until I pretend to actually believe it.

"Back in the saddle again," I whisper to myself and push away from the computer desk and make my way back to bed even though there was less than a slim chance I would actually close my eyes.

Sidelined. The word pushes to the forefront of my consciousness. Maybe the opportunity to work with the Series Five again would change things after all. I force my eyes to close and feel the slow sense of fatigue capture my thoughts and push me into blessed unconsciousness.

Then again, there was the chance that it would only prove to be true.


End file.
